David Whitley encounters the guardian to Australia’s wild north, and gets a glimpse of true adventurer’s country.

Half in the murky water and half on the bank, Fat Albert lies in wait. He is enormous, and has an aura surrounding him that only the true king of the river can have.

The pilot of our boat is justifiably wary. He wants to get close enough for us all to be able to have a good look, but not so close that Albert can suddenly turn into a problem. And, by problem, he means “man-eater”. The Daintree River’s biggest crocodile is approximately five metres long, and as our guide concedes, he’s more than capable of clambering up the side of the boat, toppling it or getting in.

Our best defence, we’re told, is the crocodile’s own laziness. They’re ruthlessly efficient killers, and will only go for what they’re pretty much certain to get. Our big boat full of mildly nervous tourists isn’t worth the effort. The energy he’d have to expend to get a dinner that’s by no means a sure thing just isn’t worth it – far better to sit and sunbathe, waiting for an easier option to come along. Despite knowing this, everyone runs from the side nearest the bank as soon as Fat Albert opens his mouth.

Albert’s domain is one of Australia’s great frontiers. The Daintree River is a beautiful stretch of water, albeit one filled with saltwater crocodiles who’ll happily gobble up anyone idiotic enough to go for a swim. Get a day where the skies are blue and you’re in for an extraordinary treat. The rainforest puts the river in a green box, and the surrounding mountains jag up in an almost triangular manner.

But the Daintree is more than just a pretty place to go for a croc-watching cruise. It’s a dividing line between wilderness and relative civilisation. To the south lies mainstream Australia; the resort town of Port Douglas, the tropical city life of Cairns and the various hubs of the east coast.

To the north lies adventure. Northern Australia’s great wilderness triangle – the Cape York Peninsula – can only by accessed from the coast by either the cable-pulled ferry that crosses the river or an enormous diversion to one of the roads further west.

South of the river, you’re not too far from civilisation. North of the river, you can easily be cut off from it when the Wet Season rains come. There are a few settlements once you get past Fat Albert, but they attract hardy, resilient types who tend to prepared to be cut off by flooding every now and then. The moment you’re across, farmland becomes a thing of the past and the road is enveloped in the thick canopy of the rainforest.

On the way, there are a few gaps where it’s possible to look out over the mouth of the Daintree River and out to the Low Isles. But mostly it’s a case of ploughing on through the dark green shroud until you reach Cape Tribulation.

Standing on top of one of these ridges demonstrates just why man comes a distinct second best to nature here. The thick rainforest canopy undoubtedly hides many a mystery. Concrete is conspicuous by its absence, and any twinkling lights are likely to be stars rather than streetlamps. It’s not too much further north before the road becomes inaccessible to 2WD vehicles. It’s a taste of the forbidden – and it induces an overwhelming desire to take it on.

This time, I’m unprepared. Next time, it’ll take more than a few of Fat Albert’s cousins to stop me.

By David Whitley